Belongning
by Oldmovie
Summary: Cuddy shuddered slightly and wrapped her coat around her body tighter as the snow fell delicately on her shoulders. It was a trivial act since it was not the snow that was making Cuddy shiver to her very core. An AU House/Cuddy/Wilson fic about loss.


**Title:** Belonging  
**Pairings:** House/Cuddy/Wilson  
**Words:** 1,658  
**Rating:** G  
**Disclaimer:** Thank god I don't own House MD, or the show would go to pots with all of my crappy little stories!  
**Notes:** An AU OT3 story based on loss. I would just like to add that I don't have a beta-reader so all the mistakes are my own, and I'm sorry if anything in my story offends anyone. This was just a quick little thing I wrote so please don't be too harsh ;)  
**Summary:**  
Walking through a grave-yard installs a feeling unlike anything else people can experience. It's a mixture of a daunting feeling of minuteness and one of unimportance, it seems to make everything else seem trivial and irrelevant when faced with the graves of thousands around you. You feel a strange sort of earthy connection to the dead and although you could not have ever known those bodies that lay underneath the soil, you feel a deep attachment, bonded by the suffering you know those loved ones of the dead have gone through.

Cuddy shuddered slightly and wrapped her coat around her body tighter as the snow fell delicately on her shoulders. It was a trivial act since it was not the snow that was making Cuddy shiver to her very core. The scene was very quiet and serene, and only her path of footsteps broke the snow that settled peacefully over the thin grass of the graveyard. She drew a deep breath and when she exhaled the water droplets hanging onto the air condensed to form a white sort of haze that stretched out of her mouth. Its ghostly shimmering surrounded her and made her realize how cold it actually was outside, when the numbness in her body couldn't actually register it. But the shivering continued and she rubbed her hands, still deluding herself into thinking that she was reacting normally to the plunging temperature of Christmas Eve in New Jersey. She walked slowly, bracing herself for the moment where the cobblestone path would no longer plague her Prada heels and she would be given the bittersweet gift of snow covered grass that would lead to the headstones. She suddenly thought of her family, probably cozy around the fire, talking about the good old times when the kids were young and hadn't experienced the crushing weight of the world. She smiled picturing the warm scene and almost wished she was there with them, drinking the hot chocolate and listening to her uncle talk, for the umpteenth time, about the time when Cuddy had accidently got drunk at her own Bar Mitzvah. It made her slightly sad that she couldn't bring herself to face them this year, giving the lame excuse of too much work.

"But Lisa it's the holidays, I'm sure the hospital won't explode it you take a few days off."

"House just brought in another big law suit; you know how those kinds of things can go dad."

"Are you sure, not even a night?"

"I'm sorry."

She was sorry, but it would be too hard to face the questions, the pity and the loving glances of her family which would inevitably just make Cuddy feel more forlorn than she felt now. It was ironic how people's best intentions normally left the target of those intentions feeling worse for the effort. She felt a pang of guilt re-calling hearing her mother in the background of the phone-call.

"She's not coming, what do you mean she's not coming? Give me the phone."

She had hung up before her stereotypical interfering Jewish mother forced her to accept the motherly love she so wanted to give. Cuddy choked on that thought a little and expelled another harsh gust of ghostly haze from her mouth. She watched it evaporate into the air and shuddered yet again once she realized the cobblestone path had ended. Before her lay the dead of Princeton, headstones all that remained of those that once placed their own flowers at loved ones graves. She stepped forward and could immediately feel the moisture of the snow seeping into her heel, almost as a warning and a last chance to go away.

Walking through a grave-yard installs a feeling unlike anything else people can experience. It's a mixture of a daunting feeling of minuteness and one of unimportance, it seems to make everything else seem trivial and irrelevant when faced with the graves of thousands around you. You feel a strange sort of earthy connection to the dead and although you could not have ever known those bodies that lay underneath the soil, you feel a deep attachment, bonded by the suffering you know those loved ones of the dead have gone through. Cuddy felt her resilience diminish with ever step towards the headstone that held the purpose for her mission and without realizing it her eyes became wet and her nose had turned red, a muddle of the coldness of her exterior and her interior. But in striking contradiction her eyes feverishly searched for the small gravestone that stood guard over the remains of her son.

It took only a few moments to recognize the group of graves that surrounded her son's and as Cuddy approached the grave she gazed downwards, putting her hands underneath her arms so they rested in her arm-pits, believing that would prevent the sudden rush of iciness that was slowly creeping up from the pit of her stomach. It was only until she faintly stepped on the plastic packaging of flowers that forced her to look up and acknowledge her lost one.

_**David Cuddy**_

_**2010-2014**_

The headstone didn't belong there being half of the size of its neighbors, it made Cuddy's chest hurt looking at new polish of the stone. So small, so thin, so new, so very like her boy. Her face screwed up a little as her emotions threatened to break through. She stood there resolutely, staring at it, and suddenly out of quiet desperation she reached out and stroked it lightly. The cold, callous material of the stone rubbed against the tips of Cuddy's fingers contrasted strongly to the warm feather like quality that David's hair used to have. It had been approximately a year ago that David had died. He had been scared, Cuddy remembered that. He had clung to her arm, his eyes wide and frightened as it grew harder for him to breath. Cuddy's fingers tightened onto the tip of the gravestone, steadying herself as the raw, hushed groans of her sobbing shook her whole body. She stood there shaking; her eyes closed as she watched the light suddenly die out in David's eyes as the leukemia finally claimed its victory. She was lost in the memories and the clammy grasp of David's fingers as they suddenly lost their grip and began to slip away from hers. Her uneven breathing was causing the white mist to accumulate around her so much it seemed to shield her from the rest of the world. She didn't notice the two pairs of footsteps coming up behind her. It took the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder to penetrate the mist and bring her back to 2015.

"Hey," Wilson's kind subdued voice broke through the silence that was created when Cuddy's weeping had ceased.

She didn't turn around, not sure how to react, or how she felt about Wilson being here.

"I told you this was a bad idea," came a gruff voice near Wilson's side that Cuddy instantly recognized as House and she opened her eyes and brought a hand up to wipe away her tears so that by the time she turned around she would only have the red blotches surrounding her features that would hint to her inner turmoil. She could almost feel Wilson's reproachful stare at House and decided to put them both out of their misery.

"Why are you here?" She asked turning around to face them.

She saw them glance instinctively at each other before both feeling ashamed of their reaction. Typically House avoided her eyes while Wilson looked straight into them.

"Avoiding family," House muttered, shifting awkwardly in the spot, shoving his hands further down into his pockets.

Wilson's face grew annoyed but he repressed the instinct to smack House and gave Cuddy a look of supportiveness.

"We thought, well I thought, you might want to be with someone this time of year." Wilson explained his tone already apologetic.

"How did you know I wouldn't be with my family?" Cuddy asked curious.

"Same reason as we're not with ours, pity sucks." House answered, bringing his eyes up for the first time to meet Cuddy's since she first turned around.

Wilson smiled weakly at his friends' honesty. Cuddy's expression hardened a little since she wasn't sure how she was feeling just yet.

"I'm a little busy," she said turning around to face the headstone again, preferring to be left to her mourning in peace.

"We can see that," House replied but the sarcasm failed him as he even surprised himself in his seriousness. Wilson looked to him with a mixture of concern for Cuddy's sake and amazement at House's understanding.

"Cuddy," Wilson began, but he had no idea what he was planning to say, she had all the right in the world to want to be by herself. They both watched on helplessly as Cuddy shivered again, and House surprised Wilson as he limped past him and stood by Cuddy's side.

Cuddy felt the warmth radiating off of him and swallowed some more tears that had almost rebelled and fallen down her face. The three of them stood there for a few moments in utter silence, each of them gazing at the tombstone that never was supposed to be there. Cuddy finally broke the silence.

"Pity sucks." She announced and looked up at House who was staring down at her, reading her with blues whose affection for Cuddy was masked by his hard cold stare. He nodded slowly and looked back to Wilson. "Come on," he grumbled gently and limped away from her back to Wilson. She repeated his nod slowly and turned around looking at the two men in front of her, Wilson standing with his hands on his hips watching her intently with eyes laced with worry and House limping away from them both, seemingly not caring if she was coming or not. She exhaled sharply and noticed that for some reason, the white haze was no longer dripping from her mouth; she twitched her eyebrow a little puzzled, but walked away from the headstone, through the now cold snow as she approached Wilson who gave her a small smile.

"House, stop she's coming," Wilson called out in a subdued voice, respecting the graves of those around him.

"I know, now move your Hanukah celebrating asses so I can catch Jimmy Stewart drunkenly singing Buffalo girls." House shouted back causing his friends to wince slightly but with tender smiles on their faces.

~End~


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